


She’ll Understand

by funnygirlthatbelle13



Series: When Words Fail [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Aging, Body Dysmorphia, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Gen, Hugs, Trent Ikithon is his own warning, typical Caleb angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:08:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnygirlthatbelle13/pseuds/funnygirlthatbelle13
Summary: Bren was young and bright and perfect, everything that Caleb wasn’t sixteen years later. On a night where he particularly is facing his inner demons, a late night conversation with Jester makes everything more bearable.Caleb’s POV for When Words Fail





	She’ll Understand

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a thing XD 
> 
> If I’m being honest, I’ve been working on this on the side ever since When Words Fail was finished. You probably don’t have to read the first one first, btw, since it’s two perspectives on the same night, but you do you.

Despite what his friends thought, Caleb didn’t actually remember everything. Just like everybody else, details got fuzzy after time. But when the road that the Mighty Nein was traveling down was swallowed by woods, memories came flooding back in crystal clear focus. 

So when he had trouble falling asleep that night, he crept away from the camp completely unnoticed by Fjord or Caduceus. His near-perfect memory and actually perfect sense of direction led him back to a path he had trekked so many years ago. 

****

It had been three days, seventeen hours, and fourteen minutes since Bren had escaped from the asylum. He had ran south; away from Rexxentrum, away from Blumenthal, away. He had crossed paths with a family who had set up camp on the side of the road and stolen supplies as they slept: bread, a waterskin, a dull knife, flint and steel.

That had been two hours and forty-two minutes ago, and only now did Bren dare to slow down.

The sound of rushing water filled his ears as he gasped for breath- his body had grown used to disuse, it seemed- and he followed the noise. The waterskin was almost empty, and many useful plants grow near running water.

Bren trudged down the hill he was on to discover that he was  _ not _ following a river. Instead, this place seemed to be some sort of small lake, fed by a waterfall to its north. 

Stumbling on the way down, Bren collapsed to his knees at the edge of the water. As he bent over, he could not prevent the strangled cry that escaped from his lips.

He knew that he had been in that asylum for a long time- though how long exactly, he was not sure- but the person who looked back at him wasn’t,  _ couldn’t  _ be him. 

No, this couldn’t be him. He was a respectable young man, the type who could get most of the information he needed by asking nicely. He was thin and handsome, and older women who Ikithon had introduced to him always commented how looks must be a part of the Academy’s selection process. He was neat, proper, young, carefully crafted to be respectable without drawing unwanted attention.

But this man- this man was none of these things. While Bren had never been muscular, at least compared to Eodwulf, this man had absolutely no muscle to him. In fact, he was practically a skeleton: so pale, so thin. The face staring back at him was  _ extremely  _ gaunt, at least, what he could see through the mess of red beard and long, unkempt hair.

He leaned in closer to the pool, studying the half of this face that wasn’t obscured by the beard. No, this couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be his face. It must be some sort of enchantment; perhaps on the water? Yes, that had to be the explanation. It had to be it. That was the only way to explain the wrinkles that surrounded the eyes of his reflection.

This had to be a spell. It  _ had  _ to be. He lifted a trembling hand, brushing the long hair out of the way. He touched his face… and there were wrinkles; small and rough, but very much there.

“Nein,” he whispered, feeling his throat tighten, “Nein, nein, nein.”

This was impossible. He was strong, young, handsome; the future of the Empire rested on his shoulders. Or it had, once. Or had it all been a lie? If Lehrer- Ikithon- had been able to trick him into thinking his parents were traitors, then maybe none of it was true. 

And with that troubling thought, Bren took the waterskin from his belt and dunked it into the water, disrupting and distorting his reflection even further than it already had been.

Some days later, he would learn that eleven years had passed without him knowing. But, for now, Bren sat at the edge of the water, losing the battle to hold back his tears, chest heaving with the first of many a panic attack. 

****

He reached the small lake and stared down at his reflection again. The last five years had certainly not been kind to his appearance. He had never really gained his old muscles back; he’d never be able to get into the fights Ikithon had trained him to be ready for. But at least he wasn’t a total skeleton anymore. It had taken teaming up with Nott, and later the Nein, in order to be able to eat enough to gain some of the weight back. And yet, even with him looking like he wasn’t going to drop dead any second, Caleb was painfully aware of how old he looked… and he felt that way, too. Gods, he was so fucking old… 

He sat there staring at the water for another seven minutes before he wandered back to where his friends were camping. But just as he reached the edge of the clearing they were camping in, he stepped on a small branch that snapped under his foot.

“Scheiße,” he whispered.

In the dim firelight, he saw Jester turn around to look at him.

“Oh my god, Caleb, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, staring down at his feet as he moved closer to the camp.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. He could sense concern in her voice.

“Ja, ja, ja, everything’s wonderful,” he assured her, hoping that she wouldn’t press. He did not have it in him to talk about this right now. “I, uh, I had to go take a-a piss, and I ended up getting lost in thought; that’s all.”

He knew she didn’t believe him. Her face gave it all away. But rather than pushing him further, she just nodded.

“Okay,” Jester said, “Do you wanna take watch with me?”

He nodded and sat down next to her, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t make things weird. Jester, somehow, was still under the impression that he was a good person, a person worth being friends with. He couldn’t fuck that up, even if he most definitely didn’t deserve her friendship. But he also knew that keeping her in the dark would only make her worry, and she should not be bothered by his stupid problems.

“Did you ever have that experience where you woke up one morning, or you tried to do something you’d done every day of your life before, and all of a sudden you realize that you’re not a little kid anymore?”

Please understand, he thought, Please, please understand.

“Well, I remember when I got too big to sit on my momma’s lap,” she offered. He turned to her as he chuckled, smiling as he looked at her. 

“Jester, how old are you?” he asked, barely above a whisper. She had never really given a clear answer to the question when they’d asked it early on and, aside from genuine curiosity, Caleb could not help but wonder how much of her innocence was from being so sheltered and how much was actual youthful naivety. 

“Twenty-one,” she said, turning away from him and towards the stars. He felt his fingers digging into the flesh of his arm and forced himself to stop.

“Twenty-one,” he repeated under his breath. He chuckled softly, more to himself than for her. So much younger. So, so much younger. And yet…

“You know, in some ways, I am much older than you, but sometimes…” he trailed off, watching his hands, focusing on keeping his composure, though it wasn’t like Jester hadn’t seen him do far worse. And she didn’t judge. She always understood; always, even when he didn’t quite understand himself.

“What have I told you,” he asked, the words leaving his mouth without his mind’s approval, “About my past?”

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as if it was trying to escape as his brain threw insult after insult at him faster than Beauregard after she’d been hastened.

“Caleb, you have a perfect memory; you don’t need me to-“

“I want to make sure that we are on the same page,” he snapped, harsher than he’d intended. He could feel her eyes on him and could imagine exactly the sort of confused expression she was probably sporting. He brought his knees up to his chest, creating a sort of cocoon for himself. No, cocoons protected what was on the inside from the outside world. He didn’t need a cocoon; he needed a cage.

“Well,” Jester said, “I know that your name was Bren and you went to the Academy and that you fell in love with Astrid and Trent Ikithon was training you to be a scourger and he experimented with putting crystals in your body and you went crazy?” 

“That is… an abbreviated version of what happened. But yes, that is all correct.”

Of course, it was missing all of the important details, all of his many, many crimes and so much of his suffering.

He sighed.

“Never go to an asylum, Jester. It-it isn’t the kind of place you should see.”

“Were you there for, like a while?” she asked, “Like, for a month?” 

He turned away from her, shaking his head. Idiot. If she thought a month was a long time, how could she ever understand?

“A year?”

He shut his eyes tight and shook his head even harder.

“Nein,” he muttered, “Over a decade.”

“Oh.” 

And there it was. That soft little sound told Caleb all that he needed to know. He didn’t have to look at her to see the expression on her face, to know that she was realizing how she was in over her head. That one word said it all, said that he should just give up. But the floodgates were open now, so it was too late.

“You know, it’s funny,” he continued, desperately wishing to shut up but unable to, “Two thirds of my life… crystal clear. I remember everything down to the minute. But for all that time I was there, I have thirty, maybe forty memories that… I’m pretty sure are real.”

He stared into the fire, ignoring the familiar impact of his own self-loathing. It was better to stay with the devil he knew, he figured, than to risk seeing Jester’s expression in real life. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand before continuing.

“It’s not funny-it’s stupid, but there are times that I think that I have plenty of time; I’m only twenty-two. Or I try to run real fast, or something because I’m young, ja? But then I remember that I’m in my fucking thirties and I-“

The floodgate was dammed as Jester put an arm around him. As surprised as he was that she was still here, not afraid of him, he was even more surprised how quickly he settled into the hug. She was a lot bigger than Nott, so he didn’t slide down into her lap the same way. Instead, his head rested against her chest as he tried to replicate her breathing, only now realizing how close he’d been to hyperventilating.

“You know,” she said, “Maybe this is something you and Nott can talk about together? You can have a wrong body club or something!”

If he weren’t so tired, he might have laughed at the sheer force of her optimism.

“Ja, but she woke up as a completely different species; I’m just old,” he muttered.

“Thirty isn’t that old,” she assured him.

“Thirty-three,” he corrected from his place in his arms, feeling rather like a stubborn child. Jester chuckled.

“Thirty-three isn’t that old either; my momma has clients who are  _ way  _ older than that.” 

He didn’t respond, instead closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Caleb felt gentle fingers running through his hair as Jester slowly massaged his scalp. He had no idea why it felt so good, but the sensation always brought a sense of calm to him, regardless of if it was Jester or Nott or Astrid…

They did not speak, with the only sounds being crickets and their snoring friends.

“Caleb, do you remember what you looked like… before?” Jester asked tentatively after nearly three minutes of complete silence.

“Ja, ja… I do,” he mumbled, sitting up, hoping that she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating, “I can show you.” 

He quickly cast Disguise Self, watching as he instantly transformed into his seventeen-year-old self.

Caleb watched as Jester studied him, focusing in on every detail like when she was sketching. Oh gods, she was going to draw him like this. At least, he reasoned, at least she didn’t usually share her sketches. With a little less fear, he turned his attention back to her. Jester had a hand covering her mouth, eyes wide.

“Caleb, you were just a baby,” she whispered, moving to hug him only to aim too low. He tensed for a moment as she corrected, wrapping her arms around him, but he released it. It felt oddly good, to be safe in her arms as she tried to piece things together, tried to understand.

“I was seventeen,” he muttered in protest. He had been young, yes, but he still should have known better. 

“Caleb,” Jester trailed off. It was times like this when he wished he could read minds or be as insightful as Caduceus. What in the Nine Hells was she thinking? It couldn’t be all that bad, though, if she was still holding him.

“Danke,” he whispered, hoping that it was enough. As she pulled away, he let his illusion drop. 

“Please do not mention this to the others,” he said, “I, uh, do not want them to think I am even more fragile than they already do.”

“Oh, Caleb, we don’t think you’re fragile,” she assured him, “I think you’re really pretty strong.”

So she was fucking with him. Of course. It was too good to be true, and it wasn’t. He couldn’t help but laugh in spite of himself. 

“I’m not joking, Caleb!”

“Jester,” he said as he turned to look at her, “The only reason I haven’t died yet is because you and Caduceus and everyone keep using your spells and potions on me.”

Rather than agreeing with him like he expected, or even arguing like Nott would, she simply turned away from him. Folding up into herself, Jester stared out at the road. 

Idiot. Dummkopf. Arschloch. 

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, genuinely confused. Surely she knew how squishy he was? They had joked about it many times before.

Jester turned back to him, surprise quickly turning into a sad smile.

“We don’t heal you because we feel like we have to, ya know,” she said, “We do it because we care about keeping our little family together.”

Ah, that was it. She did not understand his crimes, did not understand why he loathed himself the way he did. She did not realize how much more he took care of himself now than before they all met in Trostenwald. 

“I have spent many years, many, many years feeling-feeling as though I do not deserve to be alive. Realistically, I-I should’ve been dead a long time ago.”

“But you still don’t need to talk about yourself like you talk about the horses!” Jester shot back at him, cutting him off, “We don’t care about our spell slots or the gold it costs to get healing potions. We-I-we all just want to keep the group together. Don’t you remember how sad we all were after Molly died? Can you imagine how sad we’d all be? How sad Nott would be?”

Oh, Jester. So wholly good, so fiercely kind. He couldn’t help but smile at her display of affection.

“It’s not funny, Caleb,” she muttered. Evidently, his smile didn’t convey what he had meant it to. He sighed, adjusting into a slightly more comfortable position as he did so.

“You’re right. I just… I have spent a long time feeling like I am a horrible, disgusting person.”

She shot him a look of horror. 

“But I-I don’t… always anymore,” he said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you. I often forget, uh, how I must sound to someone else. But I promise… I promise, Jester, I am getting better. Or, I am trying to.”

Tentatively, he reached out and took her hand. She did not pull away, so he squeezed her hand. A small smile crept onto her face, and the two of them sat in silence for a solid ninety seconds. He looked back toward the forest, toward the lake where he’d had his first panic attack, toward the north, to Rexxentrum, to Blumenthal.

“You should get some rest, Caleb.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

“You look exhausted. And besides, it’s not like you can see in the dark.”

He smiled. That was certainly true, and he was rather tired. Going to bed a little early would be nice; his back was rather sore and his legs were exhausted from his walk through the woods. He squeezed her hand again.

“Goodnight, Jester,” he whispered, “ And thank you.”

He stared at her for a moment, taking in her gentle smile, the way her eyes sparkled in the firelight. Feeling his cheeks threatening to go pink, he turned back to his open bedroll. Nott was curled up next to his pillow, her arm reaching out as if she was waiting for him. 

He laid down beside her, nestling close to her tiny form. Once he was comfortable, he looked up at the stars. The sky seemed black, like the ink used to copy his spells. But as he looked, he realized that it was actually a very, very deep blue. Certain pockets were an even brighter, richer shade of royal blue not unlike Jester’s hair.

“Frumpkin will stay up and watch with you,” he said, snapping his cat onto this plane so she would not be alone. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

He smiled to himself, allowing the conversation to wash over him. She understood. He had laid out all of his baggage in front of her, and she had understood. She had taken the baggage, organized it, unpacked it… this metaphor was getting out of hand, but he didn’t care.

If he ever needs to talk to someone, she’ll listen.

If he ever needs a hug, she’ll be there.

If he ever feels like her problems are too big, she’ll understand.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, yeah, that’s it lol! I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please please please consider showing your support. It’s what keeps your girl going, both as a writer and a person!


End file.
